


Broken Hearts and Honeyed Words

by Fenchurch87



Series: Tales of Kirkwall (and Beyond) [15]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II
Genre: Arguing, Breaking Up & Making Up, F/F, Fluff and Angst, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-05
Updated: 2019-05-05
Packaged: 2020-02-26 13:09:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 787
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18717715
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fenchurch87/pseuds/Fenchurch87
Summary: Ingrid Hawke is drowning her sorrows yet again, but is interrupted by her former lover's reappearance. Originally written in response to a writing prompt on /r/dragonage.





	Broken Hearts and Honeyed Words

Ingrid took another sip of brandy and slammed the bottle back down onto the bar as the burning liquor touched her lips. The room swayed around her, outlines blurring into one another as she tried and failed to focus. She stared at the bottle, blinking rapidly until her vision cleared enough for her to decide that it was slightly less than half full. This was usually the point where her brothers and cousin would announce that she had had enough and try to pull her away. But they weren't here tonight, and she hadn't had enough. Not even close. There wasn't enough liquor in the whole city to dull her pain.

“I wondered if I would find you here, sweet thing.” The woman's voice was pure honey, and it sent ripples of anticipation down her spine. _No._ She would not be fooled again. Not this time.

“Fuck off, Isabela,” she muttered, keeping her gaze fixed on the wall behind the bar.

“I deserved that.” Isabela pulled out the stool beside her and sat down.

Ingrid didn't turn around. “Why are you here?” she demanded.

“I–” Isabela hesitated, uncharacteristically. “I wanted to talk to you.” Her seductive tone was gone, replaced with something almost conciliatory.

“You did?” Ingrid let out a bitter laugh. “You disappeared without saying goodbye. You stayed away for three years with no word to anyone, not even one line to tell us you were alive. And now you're back. You've been in Kirkwall for weeks, but you haven't come to see me once. And every time I went to the Hanged Man, you weren't there.” She rubbed her eyes angrily against the tears that had suddenly formed – Ingrid Hawke never cried! – and took a long swig from her bottle. “You've wanted nothing to do with me for so long. Why do you want to talk to me now?”

There was a long pause, and then a hand came to rest on her arm. “I'm sorry.”

“I don't believe you.” Ingrid pushed the other woman's hand away and took another gulp of brandy. “Why did you even come back to this shithole?”

“Because of you,” Isabela replied simply.

“Me?” Ingrid finally looked round, and drank in Isabela's sun bronzed skin, amber eyes and untamed ebony hair, a sight that still made her pulse quicken. “What are you talking about?”

“I–” There was that hesitation again. “I–” Isabela sighed and lowered her gaze to the floor.

“If I'm making you this uncomfortable, perhaps I should leave.” Ingrid lurched to her feet and took an unsteady step towards the door.

“No. Stay. I need to say this. If I don't, it will never get said.” Isabela waited for her to stumble back to her stool before continuing. “I– I thought I might be falling for you,” she explained in a rush. “And I was confused, so I ran. But running didn't help. It just made me realise that I really had fallen for you. So I came back.” She reached for the bottle of brandy, and raised it to her lips at Ingrid's nod. “I should have told you this weeks ago, but I was afraid. Not of falling in love, but of being loved.” She sighed again. “Just tell me, Ingrid. Do I still have a chance with you?”

Ingrid felt as if she were truly seeing Isabela for the first time. Her lover's swagger and bravado were stripped away, her fears and insecurities laid bare. She thought Isabela had never looked so beautiful. And yet–

“You broke my heart when you left,” she admitted, letting a little of her own mask fall away. “How can I trust you not to do that again?”

“I'll give you my word,” Isabela replied. “I promise I won't run off again. So long as you don't give me a reason to.”

“Well.” Ingrid rubbed her chin, pretending to consider. “I suppose that's good enough,” she added with a grin.

Isabela stood up, took both Ingrid's hands in hers, and hauled her to her feet. Ingrid learnt forward, a little clumsily thanks to the brandy, and captured Isabela's lips with her own. Isabela chuckled, and then moved closer and kissed her back hungrily. Ingrid sighed happily and surrendered everything to the woman in her arms. Her heart, her body, her soul, they belonged to Isabela now.

She pulled away reluctantly, and had to catch hold of Isabela's arm as the room began to spin. Objects danced in and out of her vision, but her lover remained, unwavering.

“Come upstairs with me?” she whispered, when the floor became solid again.

“Of course, sweet thing,” Isabela murmured, the honey returning to her voice. “We have a lot of catching up to do.”

 


End file.
